An Oathbreaker
by KatherineLynn
Summary: Jaime and Brienne in KL before Joffrey's wedding and death. Jaime feels the need to protect Brienne from the politics and other Lannisters. Cersei has a plan to get rid of Margaery. Jaime/Brienne, Sansa/Margaery, some Cersei/Jaime.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: First GOT fanfiction! Keep in mind that I am only halfway through A Feast for Crows and I might be getting names, spellings, and even places wrong. Let me know, and if I do, I am sorry!

Chapter One: The Lion's Den.

Brienne entered King's Landing for the first time under the full sun of mid-day at the cusp of autumn. Jaime followed in her significant shadow, his greasy hair hiding his expression. Brienne had casually watched his face as they approached the city; his face had lost some of the color he had gained by riding day after day in the sun. Other than that, his handsome face had remained stony and expressionless.

Very rarely had the Kingslayer, no, Ser Jaime, Brienne corrected herself, betrayed any emotion. When his uncle had died, he did not weep or help Brienne dig the grave. When a passing singer brought them news that his nephew, or son, if the rumors were true, was to marry the Tyrell maid, he had barely even raised an eyebrow. He seemed to think he was still in the presence of enemies, though his only companions of late had been the Maid of Tarth and the former Maester Qyburn, who had saved his arm and cleaned his stump.

A filthy man, though admittedly probably cleaner than the travellers, pushed between Brienne and her charge, leading a mule pulling a cart full of fish. The smell overpowered the stench of the unwashed pair. With the cart between her and Jaime, Brienne could see him how others must: dirty, maimed, and above all, common, though he was still blessed with the Lannister features. His green eyes met hers.

_He is afraid, _she realized. _He never thought he would make it home, and now he's too afraid to face it. _Afraid of what, Brienne could only imagine. Jaime was haunted by demons she did not wish to become acquainted with. His stern lord father, his imp brother, and the sister that he might be in love with. Brienne shuddered to think of all those relationships running through his head all the time. She was suddenly glad that she was not Jaime Lannister.

Jaime inclined his head at her momentarily, as though saying some sort of goodbye. Brienne's chest constricted for a second. She felt as though she and Jaime had gained almost a grudging respect for each other during the long road they had travelled together. After spending every second of every day together, she hoped they had become sort of like makeshift friends. She felt that uncertain bond was leaking out of Jaime's green eyes as he gazed at her now. She felt as though he was cutting her off, cutting her out. As the cart finally, mercifully, moved out of the way, Brienne sought the strange comfort of Jaime's side.

"Ser Jaime," she asked tentatively, "Are you alright?" Her large hand descended toward his and grasped his wrist almost gently.

Jaime's hand scooted up and away from hers, but his eyes were still green and beautiful, the ones she remembered. "I'm fine, wench," he replied. "I'm home." He extended his arms as to show the extravagance of his former life, but his sling stopped him and he seemed to think better of it. As he moved away from her, toward the Red Keep, the member of the King's Guard studied his face. After a long moment, he realized who he was staring at and flinched, looking from the stump to the ground. It seemed news of Jaime's maiming had not reached King's Landing before the man himself.

In the shadow of the Keep, in Jaime's ultimate domain, Ser Jaime turned back to her and they stared at each other for a long moment. Brienne on the outside, looking in, and Jaime on the inside, staring out. Jaime turned up one corner of his lips and stepped back into the sun, outside the Keep, and pushed Brienne toward the shade. "Let's go," he said. "We have a reunion to attend." He did not sound enthused. After one deep breath full of the stink of the city and a little of naïve hope, Brienne entered the Keep.

Jaime's mind registered a thousand things at once: the rank smell of him, the distressed look on the wench's face, the abysmal pink dress she was still wearing, the disgusted looks he got from members of the King's Guard, and the frantic beating of his heart against his ribs. He had waited so long to be back, to return to Cersei. Now that he had returned, in two disgusting pieces, he considered being an outlaw and living off the land until he died.

For a single, mad moment, he hoped his sister would overlook the stump, overlook his maimed self, but even the single hope could not hold. Cersei loved him because they were one and the same; because they were both beautiful. She would hate him, he realized. She would hate him as she hated their brother.

As he brooded, Brienne fell into step beside him, as she so often did nowadays. Her curiosity and unasked questions leaked off of her ungainly body in waves. He allowed himself one last, final look at her profile. To be sure, it wasn't much to look at, but he felt a warmth in his chest that he could only attribute to respect or companionship. But when she turned to look at him fully, her magnificent blue eyes wide and guarded, he felt the warmth in his chest expand and had to suppress a smile. The wench saw the change in his face, damnably observant as she was, and furrowed her brow unpleasantly.

"Relax, wench," he said to quell his nervous laughter. "You got me home safe, your oath has been fulfilled."

Her face was still troubled. "I still must return Sansa Stark to her mother," she answered. "My oath is half-kept. Now it is your turn, Ser Jaime."

The sound of his name, this knightly title and given name, made him appreciate her even more. He knew letting go of his nickname of "Kingslayer" had been breaking a habit for her, but she had not so much as slipped up once. Then his chest felt warm and he thought of Cersei again. Soon, his hands were shaking like a damn squire and he hated himself again.

He, Brienne, and Qyburn were taken immediately to the Tower of the Hand, to Tywin Lannister. Jaime felt an absurd sense of dread at the idea of a father-son reunion. Brienne, the blissfully ignorant wench, looked as strong and determined as ever.

Lord Tywin was seated in his solar, a cup of wine in his hand. When his son entered, he did not rise, but let his eyes scrutinize every inch of his travel-worn offspring before they settled on his hand . . . stump. The phantom fingers tingled.

"Who did this?" He asked, his voice stern but flat. His eyes went to Brienne, who stepped forward. Jaime, seeing the potential disaster, interrupted her before she could speak.

"The Goat, they call him. One of the Bloody Mummers. Father, this is the Lady Brienne of Tarth, who saved my life to return me to King's Landing, and Qyburn, who saved my arm."

Tywin did not acknowledge them. "But not your hand, it seems."

"That could not be helped," Jaime insisted. "Father, I know we have much to discuss, but I must insist on a bath and fresh clothes for myself and my companions. We have travelled far."

Lord Tywin waved dismissively at Qyburn, who bowed and took his leave. Brienne, stubborn as a mule, stayed.

"My lord," she said, "My lady Catelyn Stark sent me to return to you your son. In return, I am to bring her Lady Sansa and Lady Arya."

Lord Tywin gave Brienne the half smirk Jaime had learned to dread. Something terrible was about to be dropped on the Maid of That, but Jaime could fine neither the words or the courage to warn her. She continued to stare at the Lion of Casterly Rock with expectation and absolutely no fear. Jaime admired it, and pitied her all the same.

"It pains me to say this, my lady," his father put emphasis on the word "lady," as though he did not believe her one, "But your lady is dead."

Brienne physically deflated so significantly that Jaime wanted to rush to her aid, though how he would defend her, he did not know. She would never allow it. He stayed where he was.

"She, her traitor son who called himself the King in the North, and probably Arya Stark as well," his father continued without sparing Brienne. "As for Sansa Stark, I'm afraid she must go where her lord husband believes she should go."

Since Brienne was still too shocked to respond, Jaime asked for her. "Husband?"

Tywin turned his smirk to his son. "Why your brother, Tyrion," his smile grew. "The girl is a Lannister now."

Brienne did not remember getting escorted out of the Hand's solar, did not even remember being led to her guest chambers in Maegor's Holdfast. Jaime seemed to be almost as lost as she, and they spent a long while in silence, sitting on either side of the featherbed.

"I'm sorry," he said, so quietly that she thought she imagined it. But his head turned toward her, and she knew she heard correctly.

"How did she . . ." Brienne couldn't finish. Jaime sighed, and pushed himself across the bed to her side.

"Father said she, Robb, and most of his soldiers were slain at Lord Edmure Tully's wedding to Roslin Frey. The Red Wedding, they call it," he stopped, unwilling to continue.

"What else?"

"Brienne –,"

She turned to him so fast that he thought she meant to attack him. But there were tears in her eyes, not anger. "Please, Ser, I must know."

Jaime reached a hand toward her, hesitated, and withdrew it. Brienne, realizing his intent, placed her large hand over his stump, and looked him in the eye.

"What else?"

He told her all he knew, the bloody details he desperately wanted to keep from her, and soon her shoulders were shaking and her hand had tightened on his stump. He hated himself. As he was telling the story, maids brought in hot water for Brienne's bath.

"If it please you, Ser Jaime, I would like to bathe now," she said in a small voice he did not like. Seven hells, he couldn't just leave her here to drown herself in her bathwater after all he told her, after all she'd done for him.

"You may bathe, but I'm not leaving," he said. Brienne's horsey face looked so surprised her almost laughed in spite of himself. "I don't mean to seem bawdy, I mean only to watch over you and give you comfort in any way I can." Dammit, Jaime, you sound like a fucking retard. He almost slapped himself. He could feel a flush creeping up his chest, but tried to suppress it. If she could fight for him, get hurt for him, and everything else she had done, he could make sure she didn't do anything stupid.

"I think I can manage to bathe myself, ser," she replied stiffly. There was something in her eyes that Jaime did not like. "And to be clear, I don't appreciate mockery." The warmth from earlier was gone; she turned her back on him and started unlacing her boots.

Jaime was confused. "This is no jape, wench. I owe you my life, and a Lannister always pays his debts."

"Oh save your Lannister words."

"I won't look if you don't want, I only mean to keep you company, especially because I'm the one who brought you here."

"I brought you here," she said, almost proud.

"But my lord father will not let you leave, and that fault is mine," he looked into her magnificent eyes, and willed himself not to flush. "This is not a joke. I mean to keep you safe, and in King's Landing, you are in more danger than you will ever understand."

"I am not a dimwitted maid, ser," she spat. "I can take care of myself." She was hastily retreating behind the walls she had up when Jaime first met her, and he could not break them down fast enough. She didn't trust anything coming from his mouth. He felt his control on the situation slipping.

"In a place where a wrongly whispered word can mean death, no, you cannot. The crows will be eating out of your tarred skull in a week."

Brienne's face hardened. "I don't need your help, Kingslayer. I know that I'm just an ugly woman in knight's clothes to you, but I have protected myself all my life. I protected you too. I will survive without you, whatever you think. And I will get Sansa Stark, and I will fulfill my oath. When I do, you needn't ever look on me again."

Jaime's heart ached from the wound his nickname had left, coming from her lips. He felt his patience run thin, and fought for composure.

He lost the fight. "Fine. I'll be sure to have your ugly head bronzed so the farmers can use it to scare away the birds. Good day, Beauty," he spat the last word at her and managed to see the hurt register on her face before he stormed out. The sick satisfaction he felt quickly melted as he left the room.

His sister was waiting for him on the other side. In his anger, he stormed right past her like she was a common maid. She followed, her skirts hissing over the ground.

"Why is it that I heard about your return from Varys and not from you personally?" She asked, the fury evident in her voice. Jaime did not answer, but only held up his stump. This was not the way he wanted to see Cersei, but he was too angry to care what she thought right now. His twin gasped, and her revulsion made him feel queerly proud.

"Has Father seen this?" She asked.

Jaime laughed humorlessly. "I missed you too, sweet sister," he replied, continuing on his way. Cersei sighed and hurried to catch up.

"Who took your sword hand, Jaime?" She asked. "Ilyn Payne will have his head spiked in a fortnight."

Jaime allowed himself a genuine chuckle. "If we're lucky, Vargo Hoat is already dead and decaying," he replied. "Lady Brienne dealt him a mortal blow," he thought of her biting his ear and smiled again.

"Ah yes, the giantess. When will I be fortunate enough to meet this . . . woman? Man? What it is we call her?"

Cersei meeting Brienne was the last thing Jaime wanted. "Lady Brienne. That is what we call her."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry for this short chapter!

Chapter Two

Brienne remained in her filthy bathwater much longer than she had originally anticipated. But her fight with Jaime, the guilt at calling him by the name e hated so much, made her feel pensive and drained. She had never dealt with affection or attention from men well. After what Lord Randyll's men had done, Brienne doubted she would ever truly trust a man. The humiliation had been tolerable, once she had dealt with the stares and japes. She had been most appalled by the lack of honor among the knights.

But, as she let the water around her cool and the dirt on her body slowly flaked off, she realized what Jaime had been suggesting was only a friendly gesture, if misguided. The whole idea of watching her bathe was going too far, she thought. The unnecessary suggestion had made her wary, made her push him away. Though it wasn't like he hadn't already seen her naked, she thought, the blush creeping up her cheeks. Perhaps he had thought that, after the news of Lady Catelyn's death, she would simply drown herself in her bath and leave her oath unfulfilled. He sought to protect her from that, as she had done for him. She had done almost exactly that.

She felt the realization of his true intentions weigh on her. She clambered gracelessly out of the tub, knocking water to the floor. On the bed, another pink dress, provided by the King's Hand, lay neatly beside a pair of plain breeches and a tunic, left by Jaime. He had known she would rather sulk naked in her chambers rather than wear another pink dress. He knew her. The guilt washed over her anew.

She needed to apologize.

She quickly dressed in the tunic and breeches, pulling on her dirty boots and slipping a small dagger into her boot. She knew King's Landing would not appreciate a lady walking around in breeches, but they would not tolerate a lady wearing a sword. She strode purposefully out of her quarters, set on finding Ser Jaime.

In little time, Brienne knew she was lost. She had no idea where the King's Guard resided, or even if Jaime was in his chambers. He could be at a tavern, or even a brothel. Or with the Queen Regent. The thought of the rumors of Cersei and Jaime made her feel both sick and sorry for Jaime. Though, she supposed, with no suitors and her face, she ought to feel sorry for herself instead of the Lannister twins. The thought of the two of them married, the golden haired beauties, made her feel dejected, though she couldn't imagine why.

Finally, after an hour of searching, Brienne found another member of the King's Guard, in his traditional white cloak, guarding a door.

"I'm looking for Ser Jaime," she said confidently, though she did not feel it. "Can you direct me to his chambers?"

"What's an ugly wench like you looking for the Kingslayer for?"

Brienne ignored the jibe. "I need to speak to him," she replied.

"Well the Kingslayer needs not to see the like's 'o you," the guard hissed.

"His name is Jaime," she answered, "Not Kingslayer."

"You remembered, did you?"

Brienne whirled around, coming face-to-face with Jaime, who looked tired. "Ser Jaime," Brienne began. "I wanted to apolo –,"

"Don't waste your breath, wench," he said, brushing past her. "I don't want to hear it."

She followed closely behind him, desperate for him to hear her. "Jaime, I beg your pardons, I should not have used that accursed name –,"

Jaime didn't even stop. "You think I'm mad because you called me 'Kingslayer'?"

Brienne lost her voice then.

"No wench. I know I will be an oath breaker in your ugly eyes. What upsets me is you can defy what everyone thinks of you, but I am not allowed to do the same." Jaime watched her brow furrow again as he waited for a reply. "You're allowed to act like a true valiant knight, but when I try to return the favor, as I am supposed to, you don't let me. You think I'm mocking you," he paused, and hurt filled his voice. "I had no idea you still thought so low of me."

Brienne's guilt threatened to overcome her. "Jaime, if you would just listen."

"Go away, wench," he replied.

Frustrated, Brienne reached out to stop him from leaving. Jaime turned in response to her touch and pushed hard on Brienne's chest. Caught off-guard, she stumbled half a step before she hit the wall. Jaime had her pinned with his maimed hand. Brienne found herself nose to nose with the Kingslayer, his eyes a torment of green with flecks of gold, her own a flurry of ice and ocean. His chest was heaving, brushing against hers.

"I will not listen to a woman who does not know her place," he growled. Brienne let the comment sting for only a second to sate her guilt before she shoved him back. Jaime had expected it, and did not budge. Brienne tucked her boot behind Jaime's and drew it too close to her, and put pressure on his chest, sending him rocketing down to the floor. Brienne drew her dagger from her boot, and pointed it lazily at him.

"I know my place," she said, "I'm just sorry I didn't let you assume yours," she tucked the dagger into her belt and melted into the shadows, leaving Jaime in the dirt.

Jaime stayed on the ground for a long moment after she was gone, breathing heavily. Brienne was right, she knew her place, and it was kicking men to the ground. While he had eventually come to appreciate her place, he knew he could not let her assume that place here. She would be ridiculed, teased, and eventually raped and killed. Though if it would be at the hands of a member of his family or a member of the King's Guard, he could not be sure.

As Jaime lay there, thinking on the Maid of Tarth's fate, he had to wonder why he was bothering to protect a woman who obviously did not wish to be protected. But as he asked the question, he answered it. That blasted wench had saved his life time and again, risked her life to get him here safe, and a Lannister always pays his debts.

But how large of a debt did he have to pay?

Cersei watched her twin standing stiffly beside the Knight of Flowers and found herself seething with unexplainable anger. This man, with grey hairs sneaking into his beard, was not the twin she remembered, the one who was quick to draw a sword and even quicker to anger. This man was quick to nothing. Seven hells, he could barely get dressed without help. She thought getting Jaime back meant happiness and safety, yet Jaime was rebuking her every chance he got.

Margaery Tyrell sauntered by him and Cersei's anger turned to a torrent. She saw the way Jaime looked at her, like he was appraising her. Joffrey's little queen, the queen of the people. It made her sick. Cersei stood from her seat, and the room fell silent.

"If the small council would be so kind –," Margaery's coquettish giggle broke the obedient silence. Cersei turned her eyes to her, and saw that Jaime had said something funny to her; his eyes were smiling as well. Margaery's pink cheeks were flushed as she smiled at Jaime. Varys, Pycelle, Lord Tywin and the rest stood and strode out before her. Cersei gave Jaime a withering look as she followed him out. He pretended not to have noticed.

"I have an urgent matter I wish to discuss with the small council," she announced as she swept into the room, all skirts and floral scents.

"You want to remove Ser Jaime from the King's Guard," Varys finished helpfully.

Pycelle looked appalled. "Not possible," he said. "Ser Jaime is the Lord Commander, and the King's Guard members serve for life." Cersei rolled her eyes.

"We removed Ser Barristan," she said. "We can remove Jaime."

"And that was a terrible decision, pardon Your Grace," Pycelle said. "Varys's sources say that Ser Barristan is now working alongside the Targaryen girl."

Cersei momentarily fell silent. Twyin's gaze was on her, judgmental and rough. Seeing an opening, Cersei appealed to him. "Father, Jaime is no knight any longer. He will shame the family name, to play at knights when he is no more than a cripple."

Lord Tywin looked displeased that she mentioned the family name in court, but answered nonetheless. "Ser Jaime should be persuaded to step down, so as to take his rightful place as Lord of Casterly Rock," he said. "He will not be removed."

Cersei smiled. "You've always been the most persuasive, Father."

Tywin did not smile. "I'll see what I can do," he said. "Jaime will have stepped down from the King's Guard by the time Joffrey weds the Tyrell girl."

The wedding was in only a fortnight. "Thank you, Father."

"Your Grace," he said as a way of farewell. Cersei was relieved. She needed Jaime away from Joffrey and Margaery. It wouldn't do to have the King cuckolded by a cripple. With Jaime gone, her father would finally see that Cersei was the only true son he ever had.

Once Margaery and her hoard of flowers were gone, Cersei would be completely happy. Cersei paced the room, hoping to spark inspiration. Margaery was already widowed, once married to the traitor Renly Baratheon. She could not be imprisoned by way of treason; Joffrey had already absolved her of that. If she came to Joffrey despoiled, she could find a way to have her removed from his affections. But if the rumors were true, then Renly had loved Maragery none, and her brother more.

With Margaery sleeping with two female cousins in her bed every night, it would seem that Margaery had an affinity for the female flesh that Renly had not. Cersei chuckled. What a torrid affair that would be, Margaery with another courtly lady; the shame would surely send her running from court all the way back to Highgarden. She went riding and hawking so much it was very possible. But Cersei didn't need possible, she need absolute proof.

"Bring me Sansa Stark," she called to her guard. "Immediately."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

Brienne had spent the past fortnight avoiding Jaime and trying to secure Sansa Stark's release. All she had gotten were polite but firm rejections. When he sought her husband, Tyrion had become very hard to find. As it was, Brienne had not even been allowed anywhere close to the Stark girl. She was quickly growing tired of King's Landing politics. Many men and women mocked her by pretending to be her friend, and many other men began to court her, though if they were making fun of her or participating in a bet she could not say.

Often she retreated to the yard, but no one would spar with a woman. Many days she fought with a dummy, and it would have to be replaced when she was done. Sometimes she pretended it was Jaime, though more often than not she pictured Vargo Hoat and his Bloody Mummers, for taking Jaime's hand. As Brienne made her way to the yard, she noticed all the streets were blocked by a caravan of people sporting the Sunspear banners. Joffrey's wedding was today, Brienne realized. She had avoided people so much she had completely forgotten.

The wedding would be the perfect time to speak to Sansa, but Brienne did not have an invitation or a proper dress. A lady knight would not be allowed to the boy king's wedding. She had no friends here who could pull an invitation for her, and ad ress in her size could not be made in time. Brienne frowned and returned to her chambers. When she shoved the door open, Jaime leapt up from the chair in the corner. He looked distressed, but Brienne did not care.

"What are you doing in my chambers, ser?" She asked stiffly. "Going to try to watch me bathe again?" She moved away from him, and set her scabbard on the bedside vanity.

Jaime ignored the jab, but his eyes looked hardened. "I would have liked to let you avoid me for the rest of your days if it please you, but I need someone to give me counsel."

"Wouldn't you rather ask Her Grace?"Brienne said, her voice harsher than she anticipated. The contorted look on Jaime's face made her regret it. If the rumors were true, then Cersei and Jaime were in the middle of a lover's quarrel.

"Her Grace is my problem," Jaime answered. He collapsed back into the chair he had risen from. "I've been counseled to step down as Lord Commander of the King's Guard."

Brienne was shocked. "But you were just appointed," she protested. "Why would they remove you?"

In response, Jaime held up his stump. "Father says I am no longer fit to serve. Which I suppose is true."

"It isn't," Brienne insisted. "You are part of the King's Guard. They serve for life. You took an oath."

Jaime laughed mirthlessly. "Don't you remember, wench? I break those."

Brienne felt guilt wash over her, and it was immediately chased out by anger. "No, that's not true. This is not an oath you would willingly break. They can't make you resign."

Jaime gave her a rueful smile. "They can."

Brienne was insistent. "They can't make you do anything."

"Wench, you aren't giving me any counsel," Jaime ran his left hand through his tousled hair. "Will you listen or not?"

Brienne took a seat across from him, waiting. He watched her intent expression, and smiled a true smile. "My father never wanted me to be a member of the King's Guard. He wanted me to be the Lord of Casterly Rock when he dies," Jaime smiled. "Right now, a dwarf stands to inherit the South by birthright and the North by marriage. Father cannot abide that."

"If you are his preferred heir, why would you take the white cloak?" Brienne asked. "I understand why I did. I did it to escape marriage, but," she paused as Jaime's expression contorted again. "Oh. You did it for her."

Jaime looked away. "Another sin you'll have to forgive me for committing."

Brienne found this conversation significantly more difficult. "I don't have to forgive you for anything. You cannot help who you love," even as she said it, a vice closed around her throat, and she found that every breath brought tears to her eyes. She turned away to hide it.

"I couldn't let Cersei come to place she did not know to marry a man who did not love her. I came here to protect her, and it seems I have fulfilled my uses." He looked both furious and miserable. "I'm being retired so I do not bring shame to the Lannister name," an ironic smile twisted his grizzled features. "I think I've already covered that."

Brienne shook her head, almost letting a few tears loose. "You have brought more honor to your family than your siblings combined." A tear, as stubborn as its creator, snaked down her broad cheek.

She heard Jaime before she saw him. His good hand turned her to face him, and though he looked pained, there were no tears in his eyes. "Do not cry for me, wench," he said, wiping the tear away with his thumb. His other fingers splayed themselves across her freckly cheek, hesitating gently. She felt her hands, but she left her eyes locked on his.

"Thank you for your counsel," he said softly. Instinctively, her eyes dropped to his mouth to understand the words he was saying. He quirked one side of his lips upward.

"I didn't give you any counsel," she protested weakly. His hand on her face was disorienting her more than any blow to the head did.

He swayed closer to her, and Brienne had to forcibly remember to breathe. "But you did. I know what I can do." He leaned ever close and Brienne shoved him back, but gently. "That's the wench I remember. Don't go falling in love with me now," he joked.

Brienne felt heat on her cheeks. "Don't worry, Ser Jaime," she replied. "I'm not interested."

Jaime paused outside Brienne's door once again that night, dressed in his whites. He thought back to the wench on the other side of the door and an unbidden smile threatened to take over his face. His hand on her face had been a comforting gesture at first, but he could feel the immediate tension in the room and decided to push his luck as far as he could. As soon as her eyes dropped to his mouth, though, he had lost all track of thought. Her instinctive response was so feminine he had been caught off-guard. He felt a clench in his stomach that he had originally attributed to amusement.

But he was wrong. It was desire. He had leaned closer to her then, though where his lips would have landed he could not have said. But she pushed him away, and the spell had been broken. But that clench in his stomach was hard to forget. And so here he was, waiting for a girl who had consumed him fully, like no woman had since Cersei. But the way Cersei consumed him was like wildfire, horrible and enchanting to watch, but destructive and deadly. Brienne made him lighter, made him better than he could ever hope to be, and yet more terrible than he had ever been.

He gently knocked on the door, and he heard the unfamiliar rustle of skirts as Brienne approached the door. He had taken the horrid pink dress his father left for her and had it dyed a dark blue. It would not match her eyes, and there was no hiding the plainness of the dress, but it would cover all the pink.

Brienne opened the door, looking unhappy but determined. Her eyes were truly magnificent, even though the dress was too dark. Jaime smiled at her anyway.

"You scrub up nice, wench," he said with a laugh in his voice. "Seriously," he brushed past her into her chambers and held up a small strap of leather and a dagger.

"What is that?" She asked warily. "I'm already wearing the damn slippers."

"Lift up your skirts," he commanded.

She gave him an unamused look. "Look, Lannister –,"

"Just trust me, you'll thank me later," he insisted. "Unless you want to walk around all night unarmed."

Brienne hitched her skirts up to her knees. Jaime felt the clench in his stomach and shoved it away. "Higher."

She gave him an ugly look and Jaime laughed. He took one strap of the leather and reached blindly up her skirts, ignoring her discontent. He hooked one strap around the waist of her small clothes, and the other around the fleshy portion of her thigh. As he slid the dagger into its sheath, he heard her contented sigh. In a rush of moment he stood up and reached for her face again.

She deflected it out of reflex, and he wrapped his maimed arm around her neck and brought her mouth to his. The sheer sweet, sweaty taste of her drove him wild. Her lips were shocked, unyielding, but he coaxed her, softly at first, then rougher. When he realized nothing would make her want to kiss him, he broke away.

"Damn you, wench," he cursed. "Damn you to all seven hells." She did not reply, and he immediately knew why. Damn those other men who made her so mistrustful. "I'm not japing you," he said, agonized. He wished he was. He wanted to badly not to want her. He wanted even more badly to be inside her head, to know what she was thinking.

Her reply was soft and insecure. "Why then?"

Jaime put his head in his hand. "Far too many reasons to enumerate at present. We have a wedding to attend. Remember, I have been courting you since I found out I had to step down from the King's Guard. Your family has a large dowry of silver and sapphires, and such, and your father is anxious for you to marry, even if it is to a cripple." Brienne opened her mouth to respond. "That is our cover story, alright?"

Brienne nodded and repeated it back to him.

"Good," he said. "Now remember, you have to laugh at my jokes, or it'll be suspicious."

Brienne laughed.

"Yes, like that," he said. "Now, I know you're repulsed by a Kingslayer and an oath breaker, but try to play along."

Brienne hated dresses. She hated that she was so confined, that the sleeves were so long she could trip, and mostly, that she wasn't wearing pants. Right then, however, she hated herself more. She had long ago resigned herself to the idea that she would be married off to a man she did not love, who did not love her, and would have to show him affection, give him her maidenhead, and bear him children.

After the bet Ser Hyle and his men had brokered, she knew for a fact that a kiss born from true attraction was never possible for her. She had let that harden her heart, except for Renly. She had tended her feelings for him like a fragile rose bush, only to have it uprooted when he died in her arms. So when Jaime had kissed her, she had been sure it was a joke; so sure that she had forgotten to respond. Maybe she didn't know how to respond. Now, the only chance she had gotten for a kiss born of attraction was extinguished, and would probably never happen again. She had lost the chance for a kiss that wasn't done for duty.

As she stumbled along beside Jaime, she watched his face, like she had when they first entered King's Landing. His face was flushed, his eyes bright, but his mouth was set in a hard line. He was angry with her.

"Ser Jaime?" She asked tentatively. His hand, resting on hers in the crook of his arm, tensed to show that he was listening. But he did not look at her. "I'm sorry." He turned to look. "For . . . you know."

Jaime's mouth softened, "Let's just pretend it never happened."

Brienne frowned. "I only meant . . . you caught me by surprise."

Jaime almost screeched to a halt outside the throne room, where the reception would take place. Brienne had made him skip the ceremony when she decided she did not want to wear a dress after all. It had taken him three hours to convince her. "Wench, allow me to understand this," he smiled his smug grin, and Brienne rolled her eyes. "The Maid of Tarth, and the most honorable knight in the Seven Kingdoms wishes to be kissed by the Kingslayer?"

Brienne shrugged, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of being right. Jaime, sensing the lighter atmosphere, laughed.

"Alright wench, I mean, my lady," Jaime brushed a piece of sandy hair from her eyes and led her in. "Let's get this mummer's farce over with." The first few steps of their entrance was interrupted by Tywin Lannister.

"I see you saw fit to dye the dress we set out for you two weeks ago, my lady," Tywin said, his eyes on his son. "Jaime, if you were going to bring your paramour to the wedding, you should have spoken to me about it first. And since you have a woman on your arm, you should not be wearing your whites."

Jaime bristled. "It is my nephew's wedding, Father. I am still a member of the King's Guard until all the paperwork goes through. I am still entitled to wear this armor."

His father did not look abashed. "And yet you choose to shirk the oath of forsaking a woman, but not the part of the oath that says you shall not wear white."

Brienne frowned. "He did not take a woman, he is only following your orders. The matter of his wardrobe is irrelevant. Should you be judging your son for wearing white? Or your daughter, for wearing the same ivory as her new good-daughter?" She tugged on Jaime's arm. "But I am just a lady. It is not my place to speak of the shame of House Lannister."

Jaime kept his eyes on his father as Brienne pulled him away. "What the hell was that, wench? You realize Tywin Lannister could have you killed in less than a minute, by any man in this room?"

Brienne's eyes captured his. "Not all men." She glanced back at Tywin, who had turned away. "I am not afraid of a man who cannot fight his own battles." She left her eyes in the thrall of his, feeling that great kinship they had developed flow between them. What she liked the most about Jaime was that he was a lot like her, in a different way. It made them similar and opposite, a haphazard complement that neither had expected, but suited them both.

"Shall we dance, my lady?" Jaime asked, bowing with his stump hidden behind his back.

Brienne's face immediately reddened. "I would rather not," she said.

"Come on, it'll be fun. I'm wonderfully graceful, for a cripple. I bet I can make even you look good."

Brienne turned away from him, looking for a reason to flee. "Shouldn't we be looking for Lady Sansa?"

Jaime grabbed her arm and brought her back. "Yes, my lady, which is why we need to dance." He jerked his head in the direction of the dancers, and Brienne could vaguely see a head of copper colored hair mixed in with the rest.

Brienne sighed.

Jaime laughed. "So, wench. May I escort you to the dance floor?"

A/N: I really wanted to put the whole wedding in this chapter, but it would have been much too long. So I apologize for that. But it will be in the next chapter!


End file.
